


Bilborella - A Hobbit's Fairy Tale

by Mossflower_17



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF!Gandalf, Cinderella - Freeform, F/M, Fairytale Mashup, Fluff, Gandalf is an awesome fairy godmother, Happily Ever After, Happy Ending, Protective Thorin, Slow Burn, The Hobbit AU, Thilbo, alternative universe, bagginshield, but it's worth it, fairytale AU, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossflower_17/pseuds/Mossflower_17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is an orphan, living with her horrible stepmother Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and her cruel stepsisters Primula and Petunia. Nothing has gone right for Bilbo, ever since her parents passed away. But the announcement of a Royal Ball in the neighbouring kingdom of Erebor, and the arrival of one of Bilbo's mother's oldest friends, soon promises to change that…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

  


Once upon a time, in a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit.  
  
Four hobbits, to be precise; their names were Lobelia, Petunia, Primula, and Bilbo. They shared a large and comfortable hobbit hole called Bag End, sunk deep under the lush grasses of The Shire. It was a magnificent dwelling, by Hobbit standards: low-ceilinged but spacious, filled with airy and beautiful rooms, as well as a perpetually well-stocked pantry. Hobbits, after all, are notoriously fond of their food.  
  
However, all was not well in this hobbit hole. The original owners of this beautiful home would have been turning in their graves if they knew who now occupied their rooms, slept in their beds, and helped themselves liberally to the contents of the wine cellar. For this was the hobbit hole of one Bungo Baggins, who built it for his wife, the famous Belladonna Took. No-one knew how the serious and respectable Bungo had won the heart of Old Took’s prettiest – and wildest – daughter. To this day, their courtship remains a mystery. But their marriage had been a happy one, and it wasn’t long before the pair celebrated the birth of their daughter, Bilbo. But such happiness seldom lasts long.  
  
One day – one terrible day – when Bungo and Belladonna were out boating on the Brandywine river, there was an accident. There were no witnesses; nobody to tell their orphaned daughter precisely how the deed had been done. But when Bungo and Belladonna’s bloated bodies were seen drifting down the Brandywine, still hand in hand, and the battered remains of their little coracle washed up against the riverbank, every gentle Hobbit in the Shire felt a tug of sorrow in their hearts.  
  
All except one.  
  
Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, now the undisputed matriarch of the Baggins clan, was not the smiling, charming, silver-tongued Gentlehobbit she liked to think she was. The sour-faced old viper was a manipulative and greedy woman, with twin daughters and a steely ambition for them. Even before Bungo and Belladonna could be properly laid to rest, Lobelia had managed to install herself and her children, Primula and Petunia, in Bag End.  
  
‘Poor dear Bilbo,’ the two-faced Hobbit had said loudly, in honey-sweet tones as soon as the news had broken. ‘Orphaned so very young! She simply cannot be left alone in that great big empty hobbit hole. My daughters and I shall move in immediately. Prim and Pet will keep the poor girl company.’  
  
Nobody in the family dared dispute it; and before the young Bilbo had a chance to mourn for her parents, she found herself in the clutches of a new stepmother, with a pair of step-sisters to boot. But far from being her friends, the twins bullied Bilbo relentlessly. They were both a little older than she was, and they often teased Bilbo about her unusual blonde hair, pinching her cheeks and arms with their sharp fingernails, stealing her books and hiding them. For Bilbo was not like her new sisters. Where they were loud and brash, Bilbo was quiet and gentle; and although their favourite hobby was to spend their mother’s money on frilly dresses and sparkly jewellery, Bilbo was never happier than when she was curled up in her patched-up old dressing gown, snug in a chair with a book.  
  
For the young Bilbo was different to most hobbits, but for a good reason. She did not care for the company of the spoilt children, or for money, or new clothes… or for anything much, really. A hollow, empty hole had been left inside her chest, ever since her mother and father died; a hollow that no amount of pointless fripperies could ever fill up.  
  
In the silence of the night, while her stepmother and stepsisters were asleep, Bilbo would lie awake and think of her parents. She’d scrunch up her eyes tightly and remember her mother’s smile, her gentle laughter, her honey-blonde curls that slipped over her shoulders to dangle above Bilbo’s face whenever she leaned down to kiss her daughter goodnight. She could breathe in deeply and remember her father’s voice, the bitter smoke from his pipeweed, the reassuring strength of his arms when he lifted her into a hug, or sat her gently on his knee.  
  
None of those things were hers any more.  
  
No one ever picked her up. No one held her when she cried, sat her on their knee, spoke kind words to her, or kissed her goodnight. Lobelia’s spoilt daughters both hated her, for they bitterly resented having to share their glorious new home with someone like Bilbo. And as for Lobelia… well. She had only volunteered to be Bilbo’s guardian so she could inherit her cousin’s beautiful hobbit hole, as well as the not inconsiderable wealth that came with it.  
  
As soon as she was old enough to wield a broom, Lobelia gave Bilbo all the work of the house to do. Too young to know any better, Bilbo had complied uncomplainingly. She thought this was what orphans were expected to do. So she swept the polished wooden halls, laid the fires in the grates, cooked the meals, washed the dishes, mopped the floors, scrubbed the flagstones, dusted the mantelpiece, wiped down the tables, took out the rubbish, washed the laundry, and scraped the burnt-out wood and ashes from the cold fireplaces every morning. It was hard work. Her back ached every evening, and her young limbs often shook from the strain and exhaustion.  
  
But as the years went by, and Bilbo’s list of chores only ever increased, she grew stronger. Unusually for Hobbits – who were nearly all round, plump, soft creatures – Bilbo grew up wiry and strong. She had even developed a little lean muscle in her arms, from chopping firewood and scrubbing her stepmother’s floors. Her blonde hair had grown into a long tangle of wild curls, which she kept hidden by bunning it at the nape of her neck, fastening it in place with a small wooden pin.  
Yes, Bilbo Baggins was an unusual hobbit. She had suffered much as a child. As she grew older, Bilbo saw less and less of the world outside. She barely went further than Hobbiton, let alone setting foot outside The Shire. So by the time she came of age in her thirty-third year, and heard the news that a Royal Ball was to be held in the neighbouring dwarf kingdom of Erebor, she barely gave it a second thought at first.


	2. Breaking News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a rather Royal announcement is made…

‘Have you heard? Have you heard the news?’ 

It was a hot summer’s day when Primula Sackville-Baggins barreled into Bag End, her pinched face positively glowing with excitement. She barely glanced at Bilbo, who was kneeling by the fireplace carefully scraping last night’s ashes into a small pan. 

‘What is it? What’s happened?’ her twin sister squeaked. She was standing in front of her aptly named vanity table, admiring the bounce of her cropped brown curls in the mirror. She took one look at her sister’s flushed cheeks and clucked disapprovingly. ‘Mama would not like to see you so red, Prim! It’s not ladylike to run in the streets!’ She cast a withering glance towards Bilbo. ‘Go and fetch my sister a glass of water. She’s thirsty.’

Sighing, Bilbo stood slowly, trying to ignore the pain as she stretched to ease the pain in her spine. Nodding silently to the twins, she backed nervously out of the room; but not before Petunia had picked up an empty glass and hurled it bad-temperedly at Bilbo’s head. Fortunately her aim was poor, and it shattered against the doorframe by Bilbo’s feet. 

‘I said go, stupid! Hurry up!’ She spun round in a flurry of skirts before plonking herself down on a stool. ‘And clean up that mess! If I cut my pretty foot on any slivers of broken glass, it’ll be the worse for you!’ 

Flinching slightly, Bilbo hurried down the passageway towards the kitchen. Used as she was to her stepsister’s ugly ways, she still couldn’t help wishing they were nicer. She’d always wanted a sister when she was an only child. Now, all she craved was to be left alone. 

She emptied the ashes carefully into the waste bucket before filling a small glass full of water and walking softly back towards the dining room. Moving carefully and quietly was something Hobbits are naturally adept at; and during her short life Bilbo had become something of an expert.

Pausing out of sight, Bilbo raised her eyebrows in surprise when she heard what the twins were discussing. A Royal Ball was to be held. This much she knew already, having overheard some of The Shire’s market gossip. The crown prince of Erebor, Thorin son of Thrain, was looking for a wife. More than that – it was rumored that the dwarf was looking to wed a hobbit. 

‘It’s true what they’re saying,’ Bilbo heard Prim say in a hushed whisper. ‘It’s to be held in a month’s time. There’s to be music, and dancing, and fireworks, and – oh! I just know we’ll be invited!’ 

‘There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be,’ Petunia sniffed. ‘We are part of one of the most important Hobbit clans, after all. Plus, we are both of marriageable age. If the Prince is looking for a Hobbit bride…?’ She broke off and sniggered. Bilbo wrinkled her nose at the ugly sound. ‘I do think the Prince could do worse than a pretty Sackville-Baggins, of Bag End.’ Both sisters laughed together, long and low.

Bilbo shivered. She hoped dearly that the Prince did not invite her stepsisters to his ball. From what he had heard, the Crown Prince was a good-natured dwarf, making an honourable name for himself in both Erebor and The Shire. He did not deserve the likes of Primula and Petunia. 

Sighing, Bilbo made to step away from the wall and into the room when strong fingers pinched her ear and yanked her sharply backwards.

‘Bilbo Baggins!’ snarled a familiar female voice. Bilbo struggled to muffle a squeak of pain as sharp fingernails dug into the pointed tip of her sensitive ear. ‘What have I told you about eavesdropping, you nasty little girl?’ 

‘I… I wasn’t…’ Bilbo stammered, but her stepmother was having none of it. With a hard shove in the small of her back Bilbo was pushed into the dining room, slopping water all over the varnished floorboards. 

‘So,’ said Lobelia, as she picked her way daintily towards her daughters. ‘The scruffy little child Bilbo wants to go to the ball, does she?’ 

Mutely Bilbo shook her head, lowering her eyes to the floor. 

‘Come now,’ soothed her stepmother’s voice, deceptively sweet and dripping with motherly concern. ‘Don’t be shy, little one. I can see it in your face you know. You can tell me.’ 

Something inside Bilbo’s chest clenched sharply, and she bit her lip. Even after all this time, was it possible that Lobelia was going to offer her something wonderful…?  
No. Of course it was not. Bilbo knew her mistake as soon as she looked up, as soon as she dared to let herself hope, for one fraction of a second, that her stepmother was going to do anything other than taunt and humiliate her. 

‘Fancy your chances with the Crown Prince, do you?’ Lobelia’s eyes had narrowed. ‘Want to dance with Dwarvern royalty?’ The breath hissed between her teeth and she took a step towards Bilbo. ‘Let me tell you something. Princes do not dance with scruffy orphan children. Princes do not like ugly girls with dirt beneath their nails. And princes,’ she continued, a sneering smile pasted over her face. ‘Princes would not want to even lay eyes upon the likes of you, Baggins brat.’ She shook her head in mock consternation. ‘Fancy even thinking that you might be the one to catch his eye.’ She glanced towards her twins, who both wore the same smug grin plastered over their identical faces. ‘Princes deserve the best,’ Lobelia continued smoothly. ‘Which is why I intend to make sure her marries one of my beautiful daughters. My real daughters,’ she added, with another sneer. ‘You do not count. You only live here under my sufferance, Bilbo.’ She turned her back on the small blonde hobbit. ‘Now get out. We have a ball to plan for.’


	3. Moping and Mopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor old Bilbo. Things really aren't going her way. Not yet, at least...

The days before the ball passed slowly for Bilbo. No matter how much she tried to push it from her mind, how much she tried to focus on her daily tasks, she could not be rid of the thoughts that plagued her. 

Erebor. The wonderful kingdom of the dwarves. Bilbo had only ever seen it from a distance. The great vastness of the Lonely Mountain towered over the Northern parts of the Shire, its permanent snowy peak glimmering like a spire of pearl and silver when it caught the last rays of the summer sun. The dwarves who dwelt within were on friendly terms with the hobbits. For dwarves are great metalworkers, tinkers, toymakers, miners, blacksmiths, weavers and crafters; but they have no talent for tilling the earth, ploughing, seeding and tending crops. Unlike hobbits, who all share a love of things that grow. 

So the two species had formed an alliance. It had proved most profitable for both parties; and Thrain, the current King under the Mountain, was determined to cement relationships with The Shire once and for all. For this reason he had announced the Royal Ball, declaring that his son should take a hobbit bride, to solidify the link between their two kindreds. 

Bilbo sighed to herself as she slowly pushed her mop back and forth over the kitchen floor. It was the evening of the Royal Ball. Distantly she could hear the excited chatter of Primula and Petunia from further down the Hill, as they primped and preened and pampered themselves, preparing for a night of Prince-knapping. Bilbo shook her head and smiled grimly. From what she knew of the twins, she wouldn’t be surprised if the two hobbits and their ambitious parent had already decided to kidnap the Prince, to force him to marry one – or preferably both – of them. Don’t be absurd, she told herself scornfully. They have about as much chance of snagging the Prince as you do of growing wings. That afforded her a small smile. Despite the effort they put into their appearance, there was no denying that the twins were as sour-faced as their mother, with close-set eyes, pinched hollow cheeks, and long sharp noses. The effect, when viewed from a distance, was somewhat akin to a mining pick wearing a wig. 

The thought made Bilbo place a hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle. She knew it was unkind, to think such things. But the twins had made her life a misery ever since they arrived in Bag End. The thought of one of them actually succeeding in winning the affections of the Crown Prince… Bilbo shook her head. It was unthinkable that someone like Prim or Pet should gain a position of power. Both the Shire and Erebor would tremble. 

She pushed the mop along the terracotta flagstones with unnecessary force, narrowing her eyes. Her insides felt all hot, like something was burning up inside her chest. She gritted her teeth and frowned. It was not like her to get upset over something like this. She had been through worse with the Sackville-Bagginses. She had learned to ignore the insults, the snide remarks, the ill-tempered shouts. She took it all in her stride and locked her true feelings away, behind a small door buried deep in her mind. Only when she was alone, at night when the rest of the house was asleep, did Bilbo ever allow herself to cry. 

Stop this silliness at once Bilbo, she thought furiously to herself, dunking the mop thoroughly in the bucket of dirty water. You are a Baggins. Time to act like one. For if there’s one thing the Bagginses were well known for, besides their respectability, it was their practicality. There’s no point moping over the Royal Ball, she chided herself. It’s not like you were ever likely to go.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the high-pitched giggles of Primula and Petunia as they stepped daintily down the hall, followed closely by Lobelia. Bilbo leaned on her mop and pushed a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. 

‘We’re going to the ball now,’ giggled Petunia. ‘Bye bye Bilbo! We’ll be sure to tell you all about it when we get home!’ She was dressed in a soft yellow gown tied at the waist with a white ribbon; and her brown hair was dotted with yellow bows and primroses. She pulled back her lips in a sneer that revealed her prominent front teeth. She looked rather like a fussy yellow rabbit, decided Bilbo. 

‘Yes, goodbye Bilbo!’ called Primula over her sister’s shoulder, matching her sneer for sneer. ‘Such a shame you’re too ragged and dirty to come with us! We’ll be sure to give Prince Thorin your regards!’ She was dressed in a similar way to her sister, but all in pink instead of yellow. Unfortunately, the vibrant shade did nothing to flatter her rather sallow complexion; instead, it rather enhanced it. 

‘That’s enough girls,’ came Lobelia’s voice from behind them. ‘Let’s hurry along now. It wouldn’t do to be late.’ It was the closest she came to being stern with her daughters. Still giggling, the twins scuttled towards the door as Lobelia turned to face Bilbo. There was a warning glint in her eye as she looked down her nose at her stepdaughter. ‘I want that kitchen spick and span by the time we get back, do you understand?’ 

Bilbo nodded mutely. Lobelia shot her one more dirty look before turning her back and flouncing after her daughters. 

It wasn’t until Bilbo heard the key turn in the lock, and saw the three of them rattling down the path in a pony-trap, that she allowed herself to sit, sinking onto her haunches and covering her head with her hands. She did not know why she was so upset; why something as silly as the confounded Royal Ball sent fresh waves of misery sloshing into that hollow space inside her chest, filling her up until it all spilled out of the young hobbit in a muffled sob. Stop this, she told herself harshly. Stop this silliness at once. But she could not stop another sob leaking out of her, and another, and another. 

It was the only sound in the silent hobbit hole, until three sharp raps at the door made Bilbo jump almost out of her skin.

Hastily wiping her eyes and sniffing, Bilbo scurried towards to door, grabbing at the spare key Lobelia kept on a string in the porch. She did not know who could possibly be knocking at this time of day; all Lobelia’s usual callers were doubtless on their way to Erebor by now. 

Hauling the heavy door open a crack, Bilbo felt her jaw drop at the sight before her watery eyes. For there, standing at the door of her hobbit hole, stood an old man: one of the Big Folk. Bilbo’s eyes widened. She had never seen anyone so tall before. 

‘Good evening,’ smiled the man. He was looking at Bilbo keenly from beneath a pair of bushy white eyebrows. Wrapped in a grey cloak, with a pointed grey hat clamped firmly on his head, the old man was certainly a peculiar sight. But his eyes were twinkling kindly at Bilbo, and she tried to smile in return. 

‘Good evening,’ she mumbled, pulling the door open a tad further. ‘I’m afraid my stepmother isn’t here at the moment – ’ 

‘I am well aware of that,’ replied the old man. ‘And a damn good thing too. It’s not that venomous old snake I’ve come to see, Miss Baggins. It’s you.’


	4. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an unlikely fairy godmother lends Bilbo a helping hand.

‘Well now,’ said the strange man, as he settled comfortably in a kitchen chair. The furniture in the hobbit hole was far too small for him, but he did not seem to mind. On the contrary, thought Bilbo, he seemed positively at home. 

‘It’s Bilbo, isn’t it? Bilbo Baggins.’ 

‘Yes,’ nodded Bilbo. ‘Who are you?’ 

‘You do not remember me?’ The old man asked with a twitch of one eyebrow. He frowned in displeasure as Bilbo shook her head. ‘Yet why should you,’ he added softly, almost to himself. ‘It was so many years ago.’ He pulled his attention back towards Bilbo and smiled. ‘You do know my name, Bilbo Baggins; although you may have forgotten I belong to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means… me.’ 

‘Oh!’ Bilbo slapped a hand over her mouth in shock! ‘Not… not Gandalf the wandering wizard? The one who set off such beautiful fireworks at Old Took’s birthday party? I remember they filled the night with flowers, pinks and blues like snapdragons, bursting like chrysanthemums and cherry blossoms…’ she tailed off, feeling a tear threatening to spill from her eye once more. That party had been many years ago: before the death of her parents, before Lobelia – before everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong. 

‘Well, it’s nice to see you remember something about me at least,’ twinkled the old wizard. ‘Even if it’s only my fireworks.’ He leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table. ‘I was a great friend to your mother, Bilbo. She always made me promise to look out for you, you know.’ 

Bilbo could not speak. A lump had risen in her throat. Some great job you did of that, a sarcastic voice whispered in the back of her mind. 

‘I am sorry, Bilbo.’ Gandalf shook his head. ‘I have been far away from the Shire these past years. I had important business in the East. I have only recently heard of the passing of poor Belladonna.’ He glanced up, and anger flashed in his eyes as his gaze took in Bilbo’s thin figure, her patched clothes, and the mop she still clutched in her hands. ‘I have only recently too, heard of the disgraceful behavior of your… stepmother.’ 

Bilbo giggled slightly at the way the wizard pronounced the word ‘stepmother’. It was much the same way as she would pronounce the words ‘dog excrement’. 

‘It is good to see you smile again, young one.’ Gandalf said softly. Bilbo looked up into kind grey eyes surrounded by many laughter lines and wrinkles. ‘I mean to make it up to you. This very night, in fact.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ asked Bilbo, confused. Gandalf smiled: a huge, friendly grin that spread over his face like sunlight falling over the hill. 

‘I mean… that you shall go to the Ball, Bilbo Baggins!’ he cried triumphantly. 

Bilbo fainted. 

When she came around, she was propped up in an armchair in the living room, and Gandalf was sitting muttering to himself. She groaned, and the wizard’s eyes flickered over to her instantly. 

‘Ah, you’re awake,’ he said. ‘Good. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t be ready in time.’ 

‘In time for what?’ asked Bilbo. Her head still felt a little fuzzy.

‘In time to get you to the Ball, of course!’ replied Gandalf. ‘No, Bilbo; no buts, no protests. I insist. It really is the very least I can do.’ 

‘But I can’t go to the Ball!’ cried Bilbo, feeling thoroughly confused as well as utterly miserable. She wondered if the wizard was teasing her. ‘I have nothing to wear – I have no way to get to Erebor – I am not even invited – ’ 

‘Bilbo Baggins!’ snapped Gandalf, standing up. He appeared to loom against the walls of the tiny hobbit hole, his voice like thunder in her little house. ‘If I say you will go to the Ball, then go to the Ball you shall!’ His shadow flickered and wavered, seeming to grow against the candlelight, before his stern face softened and he heaved a small sigh. ‘Unless, that is, you do not want to?’ 

‘No!’ squeaked Bilbo, shocked. ‘That is – of course I want to go! But I can’t just running off into the blue…’ 

‘No, you certainly can’t,’ sniffed the wizard. ‘Which is why I have prepared a little something for you. Please hold still, Bilbo. This will only take a moment.’

‘Why? What are you…’ Bilbo began, and then opened her mouth in dismay as Gandalf picked up his staff. He began to mutter soft words in a tongue Bilbo could not understand, and the heavy lump of quartz wedged in the staff’s tip began to glow. Without warning, a bolt of white light shot from it, hitting Bilbo squarely in the chest. 

‘Ah!’ she cried out in shock, flinging up her hands as if to ward off an invisible blow. ‘What…?’ Her voice trailed away into nothing as she caught sight of herself in a mirror.

Gone was the kitchen grime. Gone was the dirt from beneath her fingernails. Gone – she gasped in amazement – was the ragged dress she always wore, with the frayed hem and the patches and darns. In its place was a ballgown of glimmering silver silk, cut low across the bust with a well-fitted bodice, flaring out into a full-length, swirling skirt. She felt the slippery fabric slither over her skin as she shifted from one bare foot to the other, tugging at the slim straps that held the dress over her shoulders. She lifted her hands and stared at the glittering rings that now adorned her fingers, still hardly able to comprehend what had happened.

‘Gandalf… what?’ she stuttered. 

‘Do you like it?’ smiled the old wizard, leaning heavily on his staff. ‘I had to guess at your measurements, my dear. I hope that was not impertinent of me.’ 

‘Not impertinent… Gandalf, how did you do this?’ squeaked Bilbo, staring at her reflection in an almost trance-like state. She barely registered that not only her clothes, but her hair had been changed too. No longer concealed in its scruffy bun, her long golden curls hung down her back, glossy and shimmering in the candlelight. They bounced playfully as she tilted her head back and forth. 

‘By magic, of course!’ huffed Gandalf. ‘I am a wizard, after all; and not just a conjurer of cheap tricks. There is more to my repertoire than fireworks.’ His eyes softened as he gazed fondly down at the hobbit. ‘Come now, Bilbo; we’re wasting time. You must get to the Ball at once.’ 

‘Right.’ Bilbo snapped out of her reverie, gathering up her skirts. ‘How am I going to do that?’ She hesitated. ‘It’s a long way to walk, Gandalf.’ 

‘I know that,’ replied the wizard. ‘Which is why I have borrowed something from an old friend of mine. Come and see.’ 

Stepping out of Bag End’s green door, Bilbo felt her jaw drop yet again with astonishment. For there, parked on the path outside the front gate, was the most ridiculous contraption she had ever set eyes upon. 

‘A rabbit sled,’ she said numbly. ‘A sled. Pulled by rabbits.’ She turned back to Gandalf, who was chuckling to himself. ‘Gandalf, there’s no way I am getting on that thing. Not in this dress,’ she added. 

‘If you will wait a moment, Bilbo, I shall if I can turn it into a more… agreeable form of transport.’ With that the wizard narrowed his eyes and raised his staff again. Bilbo was just in time to close her eyes before there was another flash of blinding white light. When she opened them again, the sled had been transformed into a dainty shimmering coach, with an elegant half-door and a plush velvet seat inside, the perfect size for a hobbit. The rabbits, however, remained.

‘Oh my,’ said Bilbo weakly. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you, Gandalf.’ 

‘There is much you don’t know about me, little hobbit,’ replied the wizard with a twinkle. ‘Now hurry up and get in. I’ll drive.’


	5. Attending the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo arrives at Erebor. I wonder who she'll bump into there...

The great gates of Erebor swung open with a clang. Bilbo caught a glimpse of uniformed dwarf guards from within her little carriage as the wizard drove them at a sedate pace, right to the foot of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo gulped. If she had thought Erebor magnificent from far away, then surely it was even more majestic when seen from close up. She was suddenly seized by panic. What on Middle Earth am I even doing here? She wondered. I can’t be going to the Royal Ball. Not really. This must all be a dream. 

‘Stop dreaming in there, Bilbo Baggins!’ came Gandalf’s voice from outside. ‘You mustn’t dally. We’ve arrived.’

‘Oh.’ Bilbo nodded and sucked in a comforting gulp of air, before stepping down from the carriage as daintily as she could manage. All around her was the busy thrum of conversation, she realized, as grooms and footmen passed to and fro, leading ponies and carts hither and thither. No one seemed to be paying them much attention. 

‘Bilbo, listen to me.’ Gandalf knelt down in front of her, bringing himself to eye level. ‘This is the best chance I can give you. Follow the passageway. It leads into the mountain. There you will be able to mingle with the other guests.’ He clasped both her hands in his. ‘However – and I cannot make this any clearer – you must leave before midnight.’

‘Before midnight?’ queried Bilbo. ‘Why?’ 

‘Because that is when the enchantment will wear off,’ replied the wizard. ‘It cannot be maintained indefinitely. So if you are still there when the clocks begin striking twelve…’ he hesitated, before giving her a wink so quick she wasn’t even sure she had seen it. ‘Run,’ he finished. 

Bilbo nodded. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll remember.’ 

‘See that you do,’ nodded Gandalf. His wrinkled face broke into a fond smile. ‘I would wish you luck, Bilbo Baggins, but somehow I do not think you’ll need it.’  
He urged her forwards with a gentle hand in the small of her back. Right, thought Bilbo unsteadily. Follow the passageway. I can do that.

She walked slowly down the high torchlit hall, marveling as she went at the difference between Erebor and The Shire. Everything she saw was intricately carved, and so much bigger, despite the fact that dwarves were only a little taller than most hobbits. 

It wasn’t long before the hallway opened up into a large chamber filled with golden light. Bilbo gasped at the sight that met her eyes. Thousands of crystal lamps lit up the great stone cavern, the light glimmering off veins of gold that ran through the very stone of Erebor itself. A large dwarvern band was seated at the far end of the hall, playing a lively tune under the watchful eye of a white-bearded conductor. At the other end of the hall, several dining tables were groaning under the weight of more food than Bilbo had ever seen in one place before. She noted, with absolutely no surprise, that most of the hobbits seemed to have gravitated towards that particular end of the chamber. 

In the distance she spotted Primula and Petunia in their pink and yellow gowns. Both of them looked irritable and flustered. Lobelia was standing behind them, and Bilbo giggled at the expression on her face. It could have curdled fresh milk. 

The reason for their displeasure soon became apparent, as Bilbo watched Lobelia sharply prod her daughters upright, and shepherd them towards the dance floor. From their red faces and slumped shoulders, Bilbo guessed that this wasn’t the first time. She watched as the twins began to step obediently to the music, moving slowly up the dance hall, towards a certain broad-shouldered, dark haired dwarf… 

Oh, thought Bilbo, her mouth suddenly dry. That must be Prince Thorin. She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the sudden flush that rushed into her cheeks. It had to be the dwarf prince, she thought. No one else could possibly have such a kingly mane of dark hair, such regal bearing, and so majestic a presence… 

‘May I help you, madame?’ 

‘What?’ Bilbo jumped and turned sharply, surprised at the appearance of a well-dressed dwarf at her elbow. ‘Oh! I’m so sorry!’ She apologized unthinkingly and began to stumble away when the strange dwarf caught her elbow and steadied her. 

‘No need for an apology,’ he nodded amicably. ‘Especially when I was the one who startled you.’ He smiled. Bilbo thought it was one of the kindest smiles she’d ever seen. ‘I’m sorry, lass. Might this make it up to you?’ With a single deft movement he leaned over and swiped two goblets of wine from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘Drink this. It’ll steady you.’ 

‘Thank you,’ said Bilbo awkwardly, taking the proffered goblet. She sipped at it carefully, a smile spreading over her own face as she realized it was filled with sweet wine.  
‘That’s better,’ said the strange dwarf, nodding towards her. ‘You’re even prettier when you smile. Like most people, I wager.’ He dipped his head courteously towards her. ‘My name is Bofur. At your service, lass.’ 

‘Oh! I… that is, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, at yours and your family’s,’ stuttered Bilbo, finally remembering the correct response to the traditional dwarvern greeting. 

‘Bilbo, is it? lovely name,’ nodded Bofur. His face cracked into another smile. ‘It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ 

‘Likewise,’ smiled Bilbo. She took another small sip of wine, deciding that she rather liked this friendly dwarf. ‘This is my first time in Erebor,’ she said hesitantly, to break the silence between them. ‘I must say, it’s all very…’ 

‘Overwhelming?’ suggested Bofur. There was a twinkle in his eye that reminded Bilbo of Gandalf. ‘Aye, I know what you mean. It’s all very grand in these parts. But then, these are the King’s halls.’ His eyes left Bilbo to roam the gathering of dwarfs and hobbits. ‘That’s King Thrain over there. The one on the throne, with the crown.’ 

‘Thank you, I think I may have been able to figure that one out,’ laughed Bilbo. 

‘Aye well, I had you down as a clever lass,’ nodded the dwarf amicably. ‘See the chap standing behind him? The one with the grey beard and a face like thunder? That’s his ol’ daddy, Thror. He used to be King Under the Mountain, before he abdicated in favour of his son.’ 

‘He certainly doesn’t look very happy,’ agreed Bilbo. That was certainly an understatement. The ancient dwarf seemed to be glaring daggers at anyone who passed his way. She made a mental note not to venture down that end of the hall. 

‘No, well I hear he didn’t like the idea of the Ball,’ said Bofur casually. ‘It was all King Thrain’s idea. I don’t think even Thorin cared much for it.’ 

‘Thorin?’ said Bilbo, surprised. ‘But he’s the Crown Prince! He’s the one this is all for, surely?’ 

‘Aye, and you should have seen the look on his face when the King announced it!’ chucked Bofur gleefully. ‘Takes after his grandfather when it comes to glowering, that one. I thought he was going to pop, right then and there, over breakfast.’ 

‘How dreadful,’ replied Bilbo, taking another sip of the sweet wine. ‘That would have been such a waste of good food.’ 

Bofur roared with laugher and clapped Bilbo on the shoulder. ‘Aye, that it would lass, that it would!’ His eyes crinkled merrily as he grinned at her. ‘My, but you’re a fine young hobbit. Come with me. I’ll introduce you, if y’like.’ 

‘What?’ stuttered Bilbo. ‘Meet… meet Thorin?’ 

‘Of course,’ replied Bofur, raising an eyebrow. ‘That’s why you hobbit lassies are all here, isn’t it?’ 

‘Well… some might be, I suppose, but… that’s to say, I don’t…’ She could hear herself beginning to babble. Well done Bilbo, now he’ll think you’re nothing but a fool, she chided herself mentally. But her new dwarf friend was still smiling. 

‘That’s a funny thing then,’ he said, cutting off Bilbo’s incoherent stuttering. ‘I must have been mistaken when I saw you staring at him earlier.’ The dwarf winked roguishly at her. ‘I thought your pretty eyes were going to fall right out of your head.’ 

Bilbo swallowed the embarrassed lump in her throat. ‘I wasn’t staring,’ she protested weakly. ‘I was just… looking.’ 

‘Aye, I know you were,’ grinned Bofur. ‘So come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone’s favourite dwarvern princeling.’ 

‘Isn’t he the only dwarvern princeling… sorry, prince?’ asked Bilbo, confused.

‘Yes, that’s the only reason he’s the favourite,’ chuckled Bofur. ‘Here, take my arm. We’ll pretend I’m escorting you, all fancy-like.’ 

‘Very well,’ grinned Bilbo. It must be the sweet wine, she thought to herself. She was never normally this bold. ‘But if this all goes horribly wrong, on your head be it!’  
‘I think I can live with that,’ laughed Bofur, proffering his arm. Bilbo took it, and found herself steered carefully around the clusters of chattering hobbits and dwarves, towards the far end of the hall. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly feeling very dry again. 

‘Move aside,’ grunted Bofur at a particularly large dwarf, stepping carefully around him. ‘Prince Thorin, may I present to you Miss Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit of The Shire.’

Bilbo kept enough of her wits to drop a curtsey. But when she raised her eyes, she felt a jolt of something hot run through her, and her heart started thudding so loudly that she was sure the whole room could hear it.

For there, standing regally before her, dressed impeccably in blue and black silk, was Thorin, Crown Prince of Erebor.


	6. A Royal Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin finally meet.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Miss Baggins,’ rumbled the dwarf in front of her. Bilbo swallowed hard and looked up, into eyes as blue as sapphires, set in a stern handsome face. His hair was long and thick, dark as the night sky, streaked faintly with silver that glimmered faintly like distant starlight. 

‘The pleasure is mine, your majesty,’ Bilbo managed to whisper, her breath quite taken away by the sight. Never before had she seen anyone, male or female, hobbit or dwarf, so utterly handsome in her life. Thorin’s deep-set eyes seemed to bore into her, and all she could think of were the names of all things blue and beautiful. Cobalt, cornflowers, sapphires, bluebells, indigo, summer skies, forget-me-nots…

Her breath hitched as Thorin smiled. He had, she realized, hardly been smiling at all before then. Even when she’d been watching him from the other side of the hall, his mouth had been decidedly downturned. He really should smile more often, her thoughts supplied lazily. He’s even prettier when he smiles.

‘Please, Miss Baggins, just Thorin will do,’ the dwarf said quietly, still staring at her with his piercing blue gaze.

‘Of course, your ma… I mean, Thorin,’ smiled Bilbo, finally regaining her voice, although her words came out a little breathless. ‘And you can call me Bilbo. Just Bilbo.’

The dwarf prince chuckled. Bilbo’s heart fluttered. 

‘Very well,’ he rumbled. ‘Just Bilbo it is. Although I feel there is nothing ‘just’ about you, Bilbo Baggins.’ He inclined his head gracefully towards her, and nodded towards Bofur, who was standing grinning behind Bilbo. ‘My thanks, Bofur.’ 

‘Any time.’ The dwarf grinned and winked, both at Thorin and at Bilbo, before vanishing into the throng. 

Before Bilbo could draw breath to ask Thorin what he was thanking Bofur for, the dwarf prince’s eyes had flicked back towards her. ‘Tell me Bilbo, do you dance?’ 

‘Dance?’ she sputtered. ‘No – ah, that is, I’m afraid I… No. No, I never learned.’ She averted her gaze from Thorin’s eyes and shuffled her feet, completely mortified. To come to a ball, and not be able to dance! She felt utterly ridiculous. Internally she cursed the meddling of Gandalf. ‘I’m sorry. I should just…’ She let out a squeak of surprise when a strong hand came up to grip one of hers. 

‘I would be happy to show you.’ She looked at Thorin’s hand holding hers in shock. It was far larger than her own, enfolding her slender fingers and their silver rings in a firm but strong grip. ‘If you wouldn’t mind…?’ 

She realized she was gawping and looked back up at the Prince. He was still gazing at her, the hint of a smile curling the edges of his lips. One eyebrow was raised, and for a moment she saw a flicker of uncertainty in those blue eyes. 

‘Of course,’ she said quickly, before the dwarf let go of her hand. ‘That’d be… lovely.’ She blushed as Thorin led her towards the area of the hall that was slowly filling up with dancing couples. 

This is a really, really, really bad idea, her thoughts supplied. Bilbo nodded unconsciously. It really was a terrible idea. She had never learned even the first thing about dancing. She gave a muffled squeak as Thorin stepped in close to her, bringing his free hand up and wrapping it carefully around her waist. She hesitated, and then did the same with hers.

‘You look terrified,’ said the dwarf softly. Bilbo nodded, her mouth too dry to speak. She was certain Thorin must be able to hear the pounding of her heart. She was pressed against his chest, and she could feel the gentle flex of his muscles beneath the well-cut blue tunic. She tried to breathe deeply, to clear her head. All she got was a lungful of Thorin’s musky scent. Her head spun. 

‘Don’t be frightened,’ murmured the dwarf in her ear, as the music halted for a few moments. ‘Just follow my lead. You’ll be fine.’ 

Bilbo nodded, not trusting herself to speak, as the music struck up again. This time, it was slower. Holding tightly to the dwarf prince, Bilbo found herself guided carefully around the floor. Thorin was obviously an expert dancer, she thought. His hold on her waist was not too tight, but it was strong enough for her to know which way he wanted her to step, with every slight movement and change in pressure. 

After a little while, when she found that she wasn’t stumbling over her own feet, Bilbo decided that, actually, she might rather enjoy learning to dance, provided it was Prince Thorin who was her teacher. 

The music slid to its conclusion, and Bilbo felt almost sorry when the dance was ended. She stepped back to look up at Thorin, feeling the smile as it stretched over her face. She could not remember ever feeling happier as she saw that the dwarf prince was grinning at her too. Until – 

‘Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins!’ 

A furious shout echoed across the hall, and Bilbo’s heart leapt up into her mouth. She had forgotten Lobelia. 

‘What on Middle Earth do you think you are doing here?’ The fury on her stepmother’s face made Bilbo flinch. Lobelia was advancing through the crowd of hobbits and dwarves, her daughters trailing in her wake. Her thin, sallow face was contorted with fury. Instinctively Bilbo began to back away, stumbling into Thorin’s chest. 

‘I… I…’ Bilbo mouthed words but nothing came out but frightened stutters. She had never seen her stepmother so angry. She could feel her hands shaking.

‘How dare you, Bilbo Baggins.’ Lobelia stopped in front of Bilbo, taking no notice whatever of everybody else in the hall; not even of Prince Thorin, whose hand had closed once again over Bilbo’s smaller one. ‘How dare you,’ she snarled again, her voice shaking with rage. ‘You insolent, disobedient little maggot! You do not belong here.’ She gestured towards the rest of the hall: the crystal lamps, the beautiful food, and the elegantly dressed guests. ‘You are nothing but a Baggins brat. You deserve nothing. Least of all, to be dancing with… with…’ She sputtered and glared up at Thorin as if he, too, had personally offended her. ‘Go back to your kitchen,’ she hissed, with such venom that Bilbo winced. ‘There are dirty pots that need to be washed.’

Numbly, Bilbo nodded. Her limbs were shaking. She tried to step away, but found that she could not move away from the hands that had contracted in a vice-like grip around her own.

‘Surely, Ms Sackville-Baggins, you are more than capable of washing your own dirty pots?’ said Thorin. His voice rumbled deeply, and Bilbo could feel the harmonics vibrating though her. Her heart curled itself into a fist and started hammering at her chest. 

‘Of course I am capable,’ Lobelia spat. ‘But this… this worthless child has no right at all to be here.’ Her voice slid into a high-pitched whine. ‘The orphan of my dear departed cousin Bungo. Dancing with a prince like she hasn’t a care in the world.’ She sneered and took a step forward. ‘You are not one of us,’ she said softly, venomously. ‘Didn’t I tell you that you that royalty should not associate with the likes of you? That you are nothing more than a burden? That you have no place amongst us?’ 

It was too much. Bilbo tore herself free from Thorin’s grasp as the dwarf’s chest rumbled mightily in anger. She ran. She ran as though her life depended on it. She ran with tears streaming down her cheeks, choking her, blurring her vision. She ran until she made it out of Erebor and into The Shire, her stepmother’s shrieks still ringing in her ears. 

'You are nothing more than a burden. You have no place amongst us.' 

Bilbo felt her heart swell with an old, familiar ache. ‘I did have a place, once,’ she whispered to herself. The memory of her mother and father swam into her mind’s eye. ‘It was taken from me.’


	7. A Stern Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Bag End, angry words are exchanged and received.

Bilbo awoke to the sound of someone hammering on her door. She groaned. Her head ached, and she was all tangled up in her sheets as if she’d been thrashing about all night.

‘Go away,’ she mumbled at the door, as the pounding continued. 

‘Bilbo,’ came Petunia’s sing-song voice. ‘Bilbo, Mama wants to speak with you!’ 

‘Yes, it’s very urgent!’ Primula’s voice joined that of her sister’s. Bilbo could hear the laughter behind their words. ‘You must get up now, stepsister!’

Bilbo groaned again as memories of the night before flooded her mind. Had all that really happened? Had old Gandalf really shown up? Had he driven her to the ball in a rabbit-drawn carriage? Had she really danced with the Prince?

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. They were puffy and sore. Wiping a hand across her face, Bilbo could feel the dry saltines of the tears she’d shed last night. Right. So, it wasn’t a dream then. She sat up, still staring at the door while Prim and Pet giggled outside. Oh, no. This means there will be… repercussions, she thought. 

‘Bilbo!’ Primula called again. ‘Hurry up, or Mama will get angry!’ 

‘Angrier, you mean!’ laughed Petunia. 

Slowly, Bilbo pulled herself out of bed. She was not surprised to find herself back in her ragged old house dress again. Gone was the silver ballgown, she sighed wistfully. Gone were the rings, the beautiful hair beads, the carriage… everything. She swallowed painfully. Back to the threads of an old life, her thoughts supplied sadly. 

She heaved herself up and ran a brush through her hair, trying to deal with the mop of tangles, still trying to ignore her stepsister’s hammering at her little wooden door. Just once, she thought desperately, just once please stop. Please. Just let me be at peace. 

Suddenly, as if in answer to her thoughts, the hammering stopped. She heard the slap of the twins’ feet on the varnished floor as they hurried away, heading towards the front porch. Bilbo stopped brushing and caught her breath, listening. There seemed to be some sort of commotion. Someone – several someone’s, Bilbo corrected herself – were hammering at Bag End’s perfectly round green door. 

‘What is the meaning of this?’ 

Bilbo grimaced at the sound of her stepmother’s strident tones. She sounded outraged, and Bilbo spared a momentary twinge of pity for the poor delivery lad or lass receiving the brunt of Lobelia’s ire. 

‘Lobelia Sackville-Baggins!’ A voice like thunder rumbled through Bag End, and Bilbo jolted upright in shock. ‘I am very displeased with you.’

There was only one person with a voice like that. 

Gandalf.

Throwing a shawl over her bare shoulders, Bilbo hurriedly threw back the bolts on her door and crept quietly towards the hall. She kept herself pressed against the walls, hoping to see while remaining unseen.

‘You can’t just barge your way in here, Grey Wizard!’ Lobelia’s outraged squeal made Bilbo grin. ‘You might have been able to walk all over my cousin-in-law, but I think you’ll find…’ 

‘I have found something, Lobelia,’ came Gandalf’s voice again. Bilbo winced. He sounded furious. ‘I have found something that is not at all to my taste.’ 

‘And what, pray, is that?’ snapped the angry hobbit.

‘You,’ replied Gandalf menacingly. ‘You are the most selfish, hard-hearted, and cowardly hobbit I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’ 

Bilbo stuffed a hand over her mouth to prevent a giggle escaping. She felt dizzy and lightheaded. Gandalf, having a go at Lobelia? It just didn’t seem possible. The next voice that spoke, however, caused her to catch her breath in shock.

‘Where is she?’ The voice was a threatening rumble that made something clench low in Bilbo’s abdomen. ‘Where have you hidden Bilbo, you worm?’ 

Thorin’s voice. 

Without another thought Bilbo was running, down the hall and through Bag End’s twists and turns, until she skidded to a halt just outside the dining room door. 

Lobelia was standing with her back to Bilbo, hands planted firmly on her hips, positively trembling with rage. Petunia and Primula were cowering behind her. In front of her loomed Gandalf, staff in hand, bristling with anger. Next to him stood Thorin, Prince Under the Mountain, with an equally furious expression on his beautiful face. Behind them jostled a group of heavy-looking dwarf guards, all of whom were scowling, and positively bristling with axes and swords and – Bilbo gulped – lots of different and terrifying-looking weapons. She was sure one even had a slingshot. So intent were they all on Lobelia and the twins, that none of them seemed to notice Bilbo as she peered around the door.

‘There! There she is!’ cried a voice that Bilbo recognized. 

‘Bofur!’ she whispered, as the friendly dwarf shouldered his way through Thorin’s armed guards. He pushed past Lobelia, earning himself an enraged squawk, and pulled Bilbo into a hug. 

‘There you are lass! We were worried!’ 

‘We?’ stuttered Bilbo, breathless from the firm embrace, before she looked over at Thorin. The dwarf prince was glowering at Lobelia, his hands clenching and unclenching. She gulped. ‘Oh…’ 

She felt a fierce flush rise into her cheeks. She tore her gaze away from the dwarf prince and winced. She remembered the burning humiliation from the night before, the feeling running wildly, the breath catching in her throat. She felt her cheeks grow hot and red with shame, and she tucked her face into Bofur’s shoulder. 

‘Bilbo Baggins,’ came Gandalf’s voice, no longer powerful and menacing. ‘I have never been so pleased to see anyone in my life.’ 

‘What?’ Bilbo looked up warily at the wizard. ‘Why?’ 

‘Thorin came to me,’ Gandalf said, by way of explanation. ‘He told me everything that happened.’ His eyes softened as he smiled at Bilbo. ‘Everything that happened between you.’ 

Bilbo shook her head in confusion. Everything…? Gandalf, however, had turned his attention back to Bilbo’s stepmother. 

‘And as for you, Ms. Sackville-Baggins,’ he began menacingly. ‘The way you’ve treated your so-called stepdaughter can only be called abominable.’ The voice of the old wizard was shaking with anger. ‘You never cared for her. For the only child of one of my oldest and dearest friends.’ His voice rose slowly as he stepped towards Lobelia. The hobbit began slowly backing away. ‘That is why I am here.’ He flashed a glance at Bilbo, who was still being held protectively in Bofur’s arms. ‘To see justice done.’

‘Justice?’ burbled Lobelia. She glared peevishly up at Gandalf. Apparently she had found her tongue again. ‘You speak of justice? The Baggins brat should be grateful I agreed to take her. No one else would’ve. It’s the Took in her. Always causes trouble, Took blood.’ Lobelia snorted, her face contorting into a resentful snarl. ‘The nasty little girl should be grateful,’ she finished, scowling.

‘Watch your tongue, snake.’ Thorin murmured. 

Bilbo gulped. Thorin had spoken softly, barely on the brink of audibility. But the power and menace his words carried were undeniable. Bilbo felt something quiver in her chest, and the armed guards behind Thorin shifted slightly, ready to step forwards. 

‘I see,’ said Lobelia softly, her eyes darting between Bilbo and the dwarf king. ‘It’s like that, is it?’ 

‘Yes,’ said Thorin. ‘It is.’ 

‘Well then…’ Lobelia puffed herself up like an angry toad. ‘I cannot be dealing with this… this madness any longer!’ she snapped. Bilbo winced at the discord. ‘Wizards and dwarves! We might as well have dealings with goblins and dragons next!’ Lobelia ranted. ‘I’ve had enough. I have had enough. Come, daughters.’ She squared her shoulders and glared up at the dwarves. ‘Unless you plan to stop me from leaving my own home?’ 

Swiftly, almost imperceptibly, Thorin’s gaze shifted towards Gandalf. The wizard gave a slight nod. Thorin then stepped aside, with mock deliberation, to let Lobelia and the twins pass by. 

‘Thank you,’ sniffed Lobelia scornfully, walking away with her nose in the air. ‘Don’t forget to shut the door when you leave. I will spare no more time for such… unwelcome visitors. Good morning.’ 

The door of Bag End slammed shut behind her. ‘Good morning, and good riddance,’ grumbled Gandalf, shaking his head. ‘It’s all right, Bofur. You can let Bilbo go now. She’s quite safe.’ 

‘Oh… aye. I’ll do that then.’ The dwarf slowly relaxed his arms, and Bilbo nodded her thanks before stepping tentatively away. She turned around, only to almost bump into the wall of blue cloth that was Prince Thorin. 

‘Oh…’ she squeaked. ‘I’m so sorry…!’ 

‘Hush,’ murmured Thorin gently. ‘Look at me.’ 

Bilbo swallowed hard and shook her head. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the varnished wooden floor. She felt hot shame flooding her cheeks, the memory of being humiliated before the dwarf prince still raw inside her. She did not want to look at him.

‘Bilbo,’ said Thorin softly, ‘Bilbo please look at me.’ He hummed frustration through his nose. ‘How can I spend time with you if you will not look up? You will be forever walking into things.’ 

That made Bilbo look up.

There was no anger in the eyes of the dwarf prince. His lips were curled into a slight smile – the same tiny, shy smile Bilbo had seen when he’d asked her to dance. Fine laughter lines creased the corners of his eyes, which were shining so brightly blue that suddenly Bilbo was struggling to breathe all over again. ‘Thorin…’ 

‘It’s all right now little one,’ said Thorin softly. ‘Everything is going to be okay.’


	8. Some Home Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody sits down and has a little chat.

They moved into the parlour. It was far larger than the porch. Large enough at least to accommodate Bilbo, Gandalf, Thorin, Bofur, and a dozen heavily armed guards; who, at a nod from Thorin, proceeded to install themselves around the room, hovering by various doors and windows, looking around menacingly. Gandalf and the other two dwarves settled themselves at the parlour table.

‘I’ll serve you all some tea,’ said Bilbo, moving automatically towards the kitchen. ‘I think there’s some fresh seedcake as well. I’ll just…’ 

‘No, Miss Baggins, you shall sit here with us.’ Gandalf said, in a voice that brooked no opposition. Still, Bilbo hesitated for a few seconds. 

‘But… I’m not allowed to sit at the parlour table,’ she said. Her words suddenly sounded very small, and very alone. ‘Lobelia doesn’t like it. She says I’m not…’ 

She was interrupted by a thud, followed by a growl. Surprisingly, both sounds had come from Bofur, who thumped his fist on the table. ‘I don’t like the way that so-called stepma of yours has been treating you, lass.’ The dwarf huffed angrily. ‘Not to sit at the table indeed! What rubbish. Come up here beside me.’ 

Bilbo climbed into a chair. ‘What about the tea?’ 

Gandalf rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘Hobbits,’ he muttered. ‘Now then,’ he continued, leaning forward on his elbows. ‘It is time we had a little discussion, Bilbo.’ His eyes were twinkling again, and a small smile was tugging at his lips. ‘I have been doing some research, Bilbo. It would appear that Lobelia’s claim that this is, in fact, her own home, is… well, entirely incorrect.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ asked Bilbo, puzzled. 

‘I have looked into your late mother’s will, Bilbo.’ The wizard smiled gently. ‘She leaves everything to you.’ 

‘Everything…?’ 

‘Yes. She’s left you Bag End,’ said Gandalf, raising one bushy eyebrow. ‘Along with all her possessions. This home is yours, now.’ 

Bofur let loose a raucous guffaw of laughter. ‘I can’t wait to see the look on that old sourpuss’s face when she finds that out!’ 

‘I dare say she already knows,’ Gandalf said thoughtfully. ‘I believe that is one of the reasons she has treated Bilbo so badly over the years.’ His eyes lighted on the hobbit, who was sitting at the table with her mouth hanging open. ‘She wanted to break your spirit, my dear hobbit.’ 

‘Aye, well it’s a good thing she never managed that, eh.’ Bofur grinned and nudged Bilbo, who managed a weak smile in return.

Gandalf chuckled and shook his head. ‘Hobbits really are amazing creatures, you know. You can learn almost all there is to know about their ways in a month; yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you.’ 

‘I am beginning to see that myself,’ rumbled Thorin. His eyes had never once left Bilbo. She could feel the heat of his gaze. 

‘Good,’ said Gandalf, who was nodding slowly. ‘That is as I had hoped.’ He glanced towards Bofur, and raised one eyebrow. ‘Come, master dwarf,’ he said. ‘I believe it’s time paid a visit to the Shire’s council, and sorted out Lobelia Sackville-Baggins once and for all.’ 

‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Bilbo. 

‘I mean that I am going to handle all the legal details surrounding Bag End; and Bofur here is going to keep Lobelia away from you.’ Gandalf stood up decisively, narrowly missing hitting his head on a low-slung wooden beam. ‘It’s time we were leaving, Bofur.’ 

‘Wha… oh, aye, of course,’ said Bofur hurriedly, catching Gandalf’s hint at last. ‘The two of you probably want some time alo… mmmph!’ 

‘Come along, Bofur.’ 

Once Bofur and Gandalf had gone, Thorin dismissed the armed guards too. Bilbo watched silently as they trooped out of her – her! – hobbit hole, taking up defensive positions all around Bag End. 

That left Bilbo and Thorin alone.


	9. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin exchange a few words.

Bilbo twisted her hands together, suddenly feeling very awkward and embarrassed. The dwarf prince was still staring at her, his gaze unwavering. 

‘Would… would you like some tea now?’ Bilbo ventured eventually. 

Thorin raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that all you hobbits ever think about?’ 

‘What?’ said Bilbo, glancing up in surprise. The dwarf prince sounded bewildered. When she looked at him, she saw pained confusion stamped on his features. 

‘I mean, after everything that’s just happened, and… tea? Is that all you can say to me, Bilbo?’ 

‘I…’ Bilbo mouthed like a stranded fish. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just all… rather too much to deal with, I’m afraid.’ She tried to stand, but all of a sudden her head started to spin. She flopped back into her chair with a thud. ‘Actually I think I might just sit quietly for a time,’ she muttered, passing a hand over her eyes. ‘At least until the world stops spinning.’ 

Dimly she heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back. Thorin appeared in her line of vision, concern etched into his face. 

‘Bilbo, are you quite well? Do you need a healer?’ 

‘No,’ she said, smiling despite herself. ‘I am just tired, I expect. It was a difficult night.’ 

Thorin chuckled deeply. ‘You’re telling me.’ 

‘I didn’t mean… oh!’ Bilbo clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I never apologized for running away from you like that! You must think me so terribly rude!’ She blushed scarlet, but Thorin merely shook his head and chuckled again. 

‘Do not fear, my little hobbit.’ His deep baritone voice sent a strange thrill through Bilbo. 

‘I wish you had not run,’ said Thorin softly, after a few seconds. ‘But I understand why you did. I tried to call you back, but I don’t think you could hear me.’ 

Bilbo shook her head. ‘I heard nothing. I just wanted to get away.’ 

‘Not from me, I hope?’ 

Bilbo raised her eyebrows, startled at the pained note in Thorin’s voice. ‘What? No no, not at all! From Lobelia! From all the people staring, whispering…’ he voice trailed off and she shook her head sharply, before glancing back up at the dwarf and grinning. ‘I enjoyed dancing with you, Prince Thorin,’ she said shyly. 

‘And I you.’ The dwarf inhaled deeply and squared his shoulders, as if mustering his strength. Slowly he lowered himself so that he was kneeling before Bilbo. His dark hair trailed in thick, glossy strands over his broad shoulders, and his eyes looked up at her with an earnestness that was almost frightening. ‘Bilbo, do you know much about dwarvern culture?’

Bilbo gaped for a moment, before hesitating to reply. ‘I know very little,’ she admitted finally. She felt another flush of embarrassment creeping across her cheeks. 

‘I thought as much,’ nodded Thorin. ‘Will you allow me to explain something to you?’

Bilbo nodded. Thorin drew in a deep, shuddering breath. 

‘We dwarves… do not court one another in the same way as hobbits.’ Bilbo’s eyes widened, but she nodded for him to continue. ‘We do not feel the need to work our way through a string of potential lovers before we find our One.’ 

‘A string of…? Excuse me!’ Bilbo butted in, outraged. ‘That’s not what it’s like at all! And I’ve never even…’ She bit down on the end of that sentence. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘Please continue.’ 

Thorin hesitated. ‘A dwarf’s One…’ he rasped slowly, almost painfully, as though the words were being forced from him. ‘It is a matter of fate, Bilbo. Not choice. There is legend that says a dwarf and his One are two halves of the same stone: a stone that was split at the time of his birth. Only those two halves can ever make a true whole.’ He hesitated again, looking up at Bilbo with those deep, dark eyes. ‘It’s a only children’s story of course,’ he muttered. ‘But it gets the point across.’ 

Bilbo nodded slowly, he mouth suddenly very dry. ‘Why are you telling me this, Thorin?’ she whispered. 

‘Because you are my One, Bilbo Baggins,’ said the dwarf prince simply. ‘I knew it as soon as I looked into your eyes.’ Bilbo could see his throat bob as he swallowed nervously. Those blue eyes gazed intently at her, pleading, almost frightened. 

‘Thorin…’ Bilbo leaned forward, reaching out towards the dwarf, who wrapped her fingers in his swiftly. His strong hands were shaking, Bilbo realised. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. 

There were no words, she decided. No words she could say that would not sound foolish and insignificant next to such a declaration of love. So, without one drop of hesitation, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire leaned forwards and tugged the startled dwarf towards her, before planting a kiss right on the lips of Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror, Crown Prince under the mountain. 

For a moment she wondered if she had done the right thing. Thorin had frozen against her, completely unmoving. 

‘Thorin…?’ she whispered, pulling back and looking at him with concern. The dwarf was staring at her as if she had grown a second head. ‘Thorin, what is it?’ Panic blossomed in her chest. This was it, she’d made a mistake, of course the Prince couldn’t have meant it in that way, she had ruined everything with a single stupid gesture –

And then Thorin unfroze, his eyes crinkling in a broad smile that swept over his face like the rising of the sun, as he tenderly cupped Bilbo’s cheek in one strong hand, pulling her forwards into a blazingly passionate kiss. Bilbo shuddered with joy as she felt the Prince’s lips pressing against hers, the sensation of his tongue in her mouth, as his hands tangled through her hair and encircled her delicate waist. 

When at last he pulled away, his eyes were shining brightly with unshed tears. ‘Bilbo…’ he said huskily. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘For what?’ grinned Bilbo. She could not have stopped smiling even if Thorin had told her there were wargs at the front door. She felt something pooling inside her, something light and golden, slowly filling up that old hollow space in her chest. 

‘For accepting me.’ Thorin pulled her into a gentle hug, which nevertheless was still strong enough to leave Bilbo gasping. ‘I was afraid you would not… that Hobbits did not feel the same way…’ 

Bilbo sighed, carefully pushing a strand of Thorin’s midnight hair back behind his ear, marveling at its silken softness. ‘We don’t, generally,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t think hobbits ever really have Ones. At least,’ she added, ‘not until now.’ She giggled. ‘And even if they don’t, then you are the closest thing to a One I could possibly get.’ She dropped a careful kiss on the top of his head. ‘Is that acceptable, my Prince?’ 

Thorin laughed then, a great hearty laugh that reverberated though Bilbo’s chest most pleasantly. ‘Oh yes,’ he gasped, wrapping his hands around Bilbo and lifting her up with no apparent effort. ‘Yes, that is more than acceptable, my love.’


	10. A Good Omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after…?

The days that followed all passed in a blur for Bilbo Baggins. 

True to his word, Gandalf had marched right into the offices of The Shire with Bofur, determined to set right the injustices done by Lobelia. There had been an awful lot of shouting, Bofur told Bilbo later. Apparently Gandalf had threatened to turn the Mayor’s offices completely upside down unless Bilbo was sorted out immediately; a declaration that had made Gandalf snort derisively into his pipe. Still, Bilbo noticed, he did not deny it. 

Bilbo had only seen Lobelia and the twins once. She had been sitting on the bench in Bag End’s front garden, enjoying the afternoon sun with Thorin. The two of them had been sitting in companionable silence, Thorin smoking his pipe and Bilbo reading a book, when Lobelia and the twins had appeared round the corner. For a moment, they all simply stared at one another. Then a low growl rumbled in Thorin’s throat, and his arm slipped protectively around Bilbo’s shoulders. 

Lobelia looked furious. But, Bilbo could not help noticing, Primula and Petunia did not. If anything, they looked sad, and a little wistful. Primula even waved shyly at Bilbo before they were both pulled back down the path by their mother. Once they were out of sight, Thorin released his breath in a great huff. 

‘No need to be so protective, silly Prince,’ chided Bilbo gently. ‘She cannot harm me now.’ 

‘I know,’ muttered Thorin, still casting a dark look towards the spot where Lobelia had vanished from view. ‘But it still boils my blood to make me think of how she treated you.’ 

‘It’s Prim and Pet I feel sorry for,’ replied Bilbo. 

‘Why?’ asked Thorin. ‘From what I understand, they did nothing but tease and torment you the whole time.’ 

‘I know,’ sighed Bilbo softly. ‘Yet I don’t think they were ever… bad. You know? Not like Lobelia. Perhaps there is hope for them yet.’ 

‘You have far too soft a heart, Bilbo Baggins,’ grumbled Thorin. 

‘Then it’s a good thing I have my dwarf to protect me,’ giggled Bilbo, pressing a kiss to Thorin’s brow. ‘My majestic warrior, ready to do battle with the dragon of Bag End, to claim the heart of – hey!’ She wriggled as Thorin grabbed her, laughing. ‘Let me go, you heavy-handed ox!’ 

‘Ox, is it now?’ exclaimed Thorin in mock despair. ‘A moment ago I was your brave protector. Fickle indeed are the hearts of hobbits!’ 

‘No more so than yours, my love,’ grinned Bilbo. Thorin furrowed his brow deeply in a scowl, but could not maintain if for more than a few seconds before bursting into laughter. 

‘That reminds me,’ Thorin said. ‘I have something for you.’ 

‘What’s that?’ asked Bilbo, as Thorin reached into a pocket.

Smiling a little bashfully, the dwarf prince opened his hand to reveal a dainty silver ring. ‘You left it behind, that night of the Ball. When you pulled your hands away from mine, this came off in my fingers.’ He smiled. ‘I kept it as a sign. A good omen.’ He plucked it delicately from his palm and offered it up to her. ‘Bilbo Baggins, my heart… will you marry me?’ 

A laugh of pure joy escaped Bilbo’s lips as she flung her arms around Thorin. ‘Of course, silly dwarf,’ she giggled into his ear. ‘Of course I will marry you.’

 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting on AO3. Everything is terrifying and confusing.


End file.
